Phone Calls and Cookies
by bonusvampirus
Summary: After the events of "Kill the Moon," Clara is upset. Martha Jones wants to make sure she's okay.


Title: Phone Calls and Cookies  
><span>Summary:<span> After the events of "Kill the Moon," Clara is upset. Martha Jones wants to make sure she's okay.  
><span>Rating:<span> T for language  
>Word Count: 1385<br>Disclaimer: The British Broadcasting Corporation owns Doctor Who and Torchwood and all related trademarks. I do not in any way profit from the use of these trademarks.  
><span>Pairings:<span> None; mentions of Martha/Mickey  
><span>Contains:<span> hurt/comfort, friendship  
><span>Warnings:<span> No major warnings.

* * *

><p>Clara was aggressively marking vocabulary tests when her mobile rang. It wasn't a number in Clara's phone and Clara had no idea where the 029 area code was, and it seemed to her that if she actually knew anyone with that area code, she'd know it. She continue to mark vocabulary tests and let it go to voice-mail. Her phone beeped to let her know that whomever it was had left a message, and Clara was curious, if nothing else, so she checked it.<p>

"Hi," said a slightly uncertain voice. "I'm Dr. Martha Jones from Torchwood." She had Clara's attention immediately. "You don't know me, but, well, hopefully he's _mentioned_ me—" The Doctor _had_ mentioned them. The Torchwood crew. They were five people based out of Cardiff who were usually called in as the first-string defense against aliens on the ground level. UNIT looked up for alien threats, Torchwood looked around, and they called each other in for back-up when needed. Torchwood got their funding from the same place that UNIT did, but they considered themselves politically autonomous. (Many organizations and governments disagreed with them about this, at least in theory, but there was a tense peace built on the fact that they needed each other, and Torchwood had a history of embarrassing governments who pissed them off, with severe consequences. They were not afraid to get world leaders sacked, and people listened to the men and women who'd saved 10% of their children, brought death back to the world right when the world had desperately needed it, and prevented a dozen other disasters every year.) Three out of five of them were old friends of the Doctor's, Martha Jones among them. "Anyway, The Doctor called me today. And he _never_ calls me. He told me what happened earlier today. I think I was supposed to tell him that it was all okay, but don't worry, I didn't. I told him off again for you. But I made him give me your number because I wanted to call and make sure that you and Courtney were okay. So... If you'd call me back, I'd appreciate that." She left her number and then hung up.

Clara stared at the phone for a minute. She'd wondered about the Torchwood crew. What were they like? Were they happy? Did they regret any of it? Why did they leave the Doctor? How does life just go on after the Doctor? Three hours away and she'd never reached out to them, though she'd thought about it many times. She could have asked the Doctor for their number. Hell, she could have caught a train and visited them. She knew where their base was. Martha, Mickey, and Jack. The other two were Gwen and Lois, but they didn't know the Doctor.

Clara's pulse had quickened, and she wasn't entirely sure why. She opened up her call history and stared at the number Martha had left in her voice-mail. Clara had met her own great-grandson from the future, and this felt very like that. It was like she was about to call up her own future.

She made the call.

Two rings, then an answer. "Clara?" Martha said.

"I... yes," Clara said.

"How are you and Courtney?" Martha said softly.

Clara swallowed. "Courtney is fine, I think." Clara said. "I'm her English teacher. She doesn't really tell me things... but she seemed fine. I think she thought it was all pretty cool."

"Good," Martha said. "He shouldn't travel with kids."

"I don't think so either," Clara said, struggling to get the words out. "They don't really know what they're getting into and he doesn't take care of them and—"

"You sound like you're about to cry."

"God _dammit_," Clara said, and as she said it her voice broke and the first tear slid down her face. "I cry too much," she said, and for a second, her voice was almost steady. "I was trying so hard not to cry and now I am crying and I'm _always_ so emotional—" She forced herself to stop and take a deep breath. "I'm crying because I'm angry," she said, not even believing it herself. "Not because I'm upset."

"You can be angry _and_ upset," Martha said calmly, "And you have every right to be."

Clara took a few deep breaths. "You think so?"

"Clara, what he did was _awful_," Martha said. "And if you want to be done with him, do it. Be done with him. I know it's terrifying but you can do it." Martha sighed. "I know because I did it." Martha sighed. "Gave up time and space, moved back in with my parents, and went back to my internship."

"And you've never regretted it?" Clara asked.

"Of course I've regretted it," Martha said. "There's so much out there that I could have seen and now I won't get to. But I've got a husband who adores me, a job I love, and friends and family who'll support me no matter what. That's worth it."

Clara nodded. She remembered that Martha couldn't see her nodding over the phone, but she didn't know what to say.

Martha spoke again: "There comes a time when you realize that all of time and space isn't worth your self-respect, or your life."

"Exactly," Clara breathed.

"Clara, you're not alone, and you never will be. If and when you need us, we'll be here."

"Thank you," Clara said. "Thank you so much for calling."

"Take care of yourself," Martha said.

"You too," Clara said.

They hung up, and Clara stared at her mobile for a second, and then looked down at everything she still needed to mark.

It could wait. It was going to have to wait, because Clara really didn't want to finish it just then. She wanted to go home. She wanted to bake something, because baking always made her feel better. She wanted to do something nice for Martha, because Clara was a total stranger and Martha had gone out of her way to call.

She wanted to bake something for Martha.

The idea was ridiculous, and she knew that as soon as she'd thought it. It was 3:30 already, so it would be 4:00 by the time she even started backing, and Martha lived in Cardiff, and Clara had school in the morning. Clara couldn't just drive three hours one way, turn up at a stranger's house with a hug and a plate of cookies, and then turn around and drive back to be home. It was ridiculous. There was no way she'd be home by midnight, and what if Martha had other plans for the night?

Clara was still telling herself how ridiculous it was as she got out all of the ingredients.

By the time her flat was really starting to smell like sugar cookies, she had come to an uneasy truce with herself wherein she admitted that she was doing this, but told herself that it was okay because she knew it was ridiculous and irresponsible. If you _knew_ that you were being ridiculous and irresponsible, it was allowed. If Clara had learned nothing else from the Doctor, she'd learned that.

She didn't even like driving. She owned a car for the occasions when she needed it, which mostly turned out to be when she wanted to go home to Blackpool, but she far preferred to walk, bike, or even take public transport.

She wasn't a very _good_ driver, if she were honest with herself. Still, she got herself and the container full of cookies to Cardiff in one piece, and then she realized that she didn't even know where Martha lived, felt silly, and took out her phone.

"Hello," she said casually when Martha answered. "It's Clara again. I know this is sudden, but I'm in Cardiff and I've wanted to meet you for a really long time, and I—"

"I'll text you my address," Martha said.

She did, and that was how Clara made two of her best friends in the world over cookies at 9:00pm on a school night. She didn't get home until 3:00am, but she fell into bed that night looking forward to four hours of good sleep and knowing she'd be able to face things with the Doctor with a clearer head in the morning.


End file.
